


By Chance Or By Choice

by pistachioinfernal



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Other, Prison, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistachioinfernal/pseuds/pistachioinfernal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Fury offers Clint Barton a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. His answer surprises him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Chance Or By Choice

"Barton!"

Clint looked up as the guard called his name. The man just gestured with his chin.

"You've got a visitor."

He nodded, then got up, hands in his pockets as he strolled across the yard. It wasn't much of a yard really, concrete and high walls, you couldn't hardly see the sky. Still, it would have been nice to have had a little more outside time. One of the convicts stuck out a foot to trip him. He stepped on it and kept walking, smirking at the brief yelp that followed.

He wondered who it was waiting for him….if it was his brother, he'd turn around and go back to the yard, end of story. Couldn't be a prison groupie, could it? He hoped not, he might be tempted to say 'yes'.

He sighed, following the guard through the corridors and up the stairs to the visiting hall. He walked in….and stopped.  
The room was completely empty. He turned around, only to find that the door was closing already. There was the small sound of a key in a lock, and then of footsteps retreating down the hall.

 _So,_ Clint thought. _I'm locked in an empty room. This can't be good. A beatdown?_

He ran through the list of usual suspects. He'd pissed off a few of the smaller fish, but had been careful to steer clear of the real trouble makers. So that was a wash.  
It might have something to do with Barney, but he seriously doubted it. His brother wasn't this melodramatic. Hadn't upset the guards. At least, not _that_ bad.

There was a small noise behind him and he smoothly reached into his front pocket.

"Mr. Barton."

In one move, Clint had turned and shot the pencil in his hand through the air towards the voice.  
The owner of the voice, a tall black man in a long coat, ducked faster then thought, and the pencil shattered into splinters on the wall behind him.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Nice moves."

The man straightened, sparing a glance for the ex-pencil. "I could say the same. Are we done, or do you have something else you want to hit me with? A pebble, a match, maybe a stick of gum?"

Clint sat down with a lazy smile, keeping his eyes on his strange visitor. "Sorry to disappoint you, all I've got in my pocket now is lint. That pencil is, was, my last and only piece of contraband."

The man stepped into the light, revealing a scarred face with a black eyepatch covering his left eye.

"My name is Nick Fury. I'm the director of a branch of government called the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, otherwise known as S.H.I.E.L.D.. We protect America from her enemies."

Clint shifted in his plastic chair, but said nothing.

"I'm here to recruit you. Today is your last day in jail, provided you say yes."

Clint laughed in disbelief. "Recruit _me_?"

"As an agent."

"And I would do what exactly?"

"You'd be sent on missions suited for your particular skill set."

Clint shrugged. "Sorry Mr. ah, Fury?, but I don't see why you've come to me."

Fury drew out a manilla envelope from his coat and tossed it onto the table in front of Clint.

"Clint Barton, former member of The Felini Brothers Flying Circus. You were billed as 'Hawkeye', the man who never misses. Ranked among the top ten archers in the Northern Hemisphere."

Clint shrugged again. "Obviously I'm not that good, or I'd have joined the Olympics team, right?"

Fury continued as if he hadn't interrupted.

"You were well known among your circus friends as an all around good guy, kind who helps with the chores, money loans when times were tight, things like that. And then, all out of nowhere, you and your brother Barney rob a bank."

Clint looked down at his worn canvas shoes, carefully studying the toes.

"Which doesn't really make sense if you ask me. You had a good life, you were respected, well liked, had a lot of friends. If it wasn't for your parents-"

Fury stopped in mid sentence as Clint's head shot up, the other man giving him an angry glare.

"I didn't _rob a bank_ because my parents died when I was a kid, if that's what you're getting at."

Fury clasped his hands behind his back. "So why did you do it?"

Clint shook his head. "I did it for my brother."

"Your brother. Barney Barton, the one who's been in and out of jail since he was fifteen, the one who left you behind to take the rap when he got away with the money? That brother?"

"Yeah, _that_ brother." said Clint, biting the words off.

"I'd say that family doesn't mean much to him."

"Are we here to talk about my brother, or the offer?" Clint looked back up at Fury, smirking. "I'm guessing that when you do this for most people, they leap at the chance, right? I mean, who wouldn't? From jail to freedom in one day. Sure. You know prisoner takes any choice given him, but a free man makes his own choices."

He stood, keeping his eyes on Fury as he moved towards the door. "I'm not the kind of fish who don't see the hook."

"Who says there's a hook?"

Clint shook his head. "There always is." He cocked his head towards the door. "You mind opening this?"

Without taking his eyes off him, Fury reached for the walkie talkie at his side and spoke into it. "Open the door."

The door lock opened with a small click, and Clint swung it open. Before he could leave, Fury spoke.

"Mr. Barton, before you go, you may want to re-think my offer. I can either make things very good for you, or very very bad."

Clint looked over his shoulder at him. "With all due respect _sir_ , I don't think that's such a great idea. Forcing me to join won't make me trust you, or you trust me. And that's what the military runs on, isn't it? Trust?"

"It's more complex then that, soldier."

Clint snorted as he walked away. "It always is."

 

He spent the next week and a half kicking himself. So what if Fury had offered him the frying pan instead of the fire, what was he, stupid? He'd get real food and hell, _real sunlight_. Yeah okay, he'd be working for the government, but still.

It had all come down to pride in the end. Pride would be the end of him, he was sure. Fury had expected him to be a grateful sap just because he was offering him an out, and that had just gotten under his skin. Clint wasn't the kind who could be bought.  
Fooled maybe, or tricked. _Guilted_ into it. But not bought, no. And definitely not threatened.

He remembered how his brother had brought up the bank robbery. He'd thought he was joking at first.

_"Sure Barn, after that, why don't we steal the Mona Lisa?" he'd teased. Barney had just looked at him with that strange half smile he got sometimes, the one he used when Clint just wasn't get it._

_Clint had put down the arrow he'd been sharpening. "You're serious?"_

_"Come on kid, we could get away with this no problem." said Barney, his voice oozing sincerity._

_"Oh my god you are serious." Clint had groaned. "Barn-"_

_"Clint." Barney echoed mockingly. "Aren't you tired of living in mouldy tents and cramped trailers? Of always 'getting by' and never letting loose?"_

_He hated the way his brother talked these days. All smooth and oily, like he's always trying to sell you something. It's like talking to a stranger._

_"Don't you know how long they put you away when you rob a bank? It's not three months Barney."_

_"Clint, look, the last time I was in, I talked to some guys. Professionals, right? Guys who knew what they were doing."_

_"If they were so good Barney, how come they were in prison?"_

_Barney put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged him off. "I can't believe you're actually thinking about this."_

_"Clint, you've been hauling that bow around so long it's going to your head. You're starting to think you're Robin Hood."_

_"Actually, I prefer Fred Bear." Clint said, staring out the window of their trailer (to small, too narrow trailer). He shifted slightly on his feet, scowling.  
_

_"Clint…. I need you on this. I'm gonna do it anyway, no matter what."_

_Clint looked down at the floor. He was so damned angry…his big brother, getting him into trouble again._

_"Fine Barn. We'll do this. The one time."_

_Barney held out his hands soothingly. "Just the one time Clint, I promise."_

 

But that was all it had taken. One time, one slip, one mistake. Now he was paying for it, while Barney was a free man. Family, Clint had decided at the trail, was overrated. There was always a hook.

 

He wasn't sure anymore if he loved or hated his brother.

 

It always seemed too hot or too cold in prison. Not to mention it was boring. He tried to stave it off with sit-ups and other exercises (weights weren't allowed, potential weapon), reading, learning new skills, and honing the old ones.

Not that he could do much archery in here, but targeting, _that_ he could work on. Beaned one fat dude on the nose with a dried pea in the cafeteria, the one from the Aryan Brotherhood. Idiot had thought his friend had started it, and the whole thing practically turned into a riot. Clint nearly felt sorry about that, except that it was the most entertaining thing he'd seen in a long time.

Man, prison was warping him.

 

The other thing that really got to him was how _lonely_ prison was. Groups of more then two were frowned on, it made the guards paranoid. Which made the prisoners paranoid because they didn't want to get beat down. No prison buddies, that's for sure.

He sighed. Seventy months to go.

 

He should have taken the offer damnit.

 

One of the guards, Angus, was ex-military. He wasn't a bad guy, so one day Clint decided to ask him a couple of questions.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" The man shook his head. "Huh…don't think I know that one. Nick Fury though…that name I think I do know. I'll get back to you Barton, stay outta trouble."

 

He was in the yard, and it was raining. He was amusing himself trying to catch raindrops. His success rate was pretty high, about four out of ten, that was good, right? He knew he must look like some crazy idiot, jumping around like a Bruce Lee wannabe, but everyone was leaving him alone. Must be the 'crazy' part.  
His jumpsuit was so wet, it looked brown instead of orange. When he was out, he was going to wear all sorts of clothes. Corduroy, that would be nice. Reminded him of when he was a kid. Jeans of course. And one of those tight white shirts. You could pick up a lot of girls with a tight white shirt and jeans.

Man he missed sex.

He missed girls. He missed _women_. He missed there being people, not just screws- ( _guards_ , only convicts called guards 'screws') and cons. He missed dogs, cats. He missed the way light looked on leaves and the way things could smell good, not just smell bad.

 

A few days later, he found a note in his cell.  
_S.H.I.E.L.D. is some sort of cloak and dagger thing. Fury's in charge of it. He's been around a long time, neck deep in all that 'Mission Impossible' crap. Paranoid kinda guy, good soldier, good to his people. Willing to do anything it takes to win._  
Clint crumpled the note and flushed it. Wouldn't do to get Angus in trouble.

 

One day he woke up and realized that he was about to celebrate his thirtieth birthday, with no-one to celebrate it with. He blinked up at the ceiling. Life was going on without him outside. He sat in here not changing, and the world kept spinning around the sun. He was still feeling sorry for himself when a guard came to the door.

"Barton, come on." It was Angus. Clint sat up, frowning.

"Sorry, I done something wrong?"

The guard just sighed. "I'm not supposed to say."

"Come on-"

"Look, I don't want to ruin the surprise."

Clint sighed, then stood up. "All right then, lets do this."

He was escorted into the visiting room. Surprisingly, Nick Fury was there waiting for him. The other man nodded.

"Barton, I just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday."

He then nodded to the guard, who handed Clint a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper. Clint looked at Fury, puzzled. The Director simply nodded again, _go on it's okay_. Clint tore open the wrapper…..and stared.

It was his personal effects. Shirt, slacks, watch, his lucky Sagittarius pin…"This…can't mean what I think it does." Clint said slowly, smoothing the cloth of the shirt. It felt good. Not as good as corduroy, but good. Fury just stood there.

"Clint Barton, as of today you are a free man. You have served your time and are being released for good behaviour."

Clint couldn't help the startled laugh that was ripped out of him. "What, seriously? Seriously?"

Fury smiled. "Even an old dog can learn new tricks. Now are you coming Mr. Barton?"

"Does that mean I have to join up?" he asked cautiously. Always try to find the hook…

"Mr. Barton, in my experience, a free man makes his own choices."

And then Fury did the most unexpected thing of all. He smiled. And Clint found himself smiling back.

 

>  
> 
> The history of free men is never really written by chance but by choice; their choice.
> 
> -Dwight D. Eisenhower

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first Avengers fic, and my first fic published in Achive Of Our Own, hurrah!  
> My Hawkeye backstory is a mashup of the one from the comic book Hawkeye with a few flourishes thrown in.  
> I don't have a beta, all errors are mine own.  
> Sometimes I have no concept of 'sarcasm doesn't translate well in the written word' and reply to a comment in a boorish and cavalier manner. If I do so, it's because my brain went on holiday for that moment in time, I didn't mean it, I'm very sorry in advance.
> 
> If you enjoy my fic, please leave a kudo or a comment. If you find a spelling error, a grammatical error, or plot hole, please let me know, and I'll try to fix it.  
> 


End file.
